


Obfuscating The Obvious

by SleepDeprivedFemale



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Body Horror, Gamora Deserved Better, Gen, Some Lovectraftian elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25411660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepDeprivedFemale/pseuds/SleepDeprivedFemale
Summary: Mistress Death, tired of Thanos’ shenanigans, recruits two lost souls from the mad Titan’s massacre to restore a lost balance to the Universe.
Kudos: 16





	Obfuscating The Obvious

**Author's Note:**

> Disappointed Infinity War didn’t go for the Thanos is in love with Death storyline. ‘Local man commits multiple murders because he can’t take no for an answer’ remains a topical theme in this hell-world we live in. Having Thanos’ motive be the overpopulation myth which goes disappointingly unchallenged in the movie didn’t help things.  
> Also, Gamora deserved better.

Gamora was lost among the stars.

Well, more like what remained of the stars. She hadn’t been one to pay much attention to the scenery, and though she knew the universe was fairly empty, it wasn’t supposed to be _this_ empty.

Yet there was no point pondering the lost brightness of a thousand suns as she stood on nothing, watching one of the Milky Way’s spiral arms, thinner than it should be, pass over her.

No, Gamora found no point in thinking about that. There wasn’t anything she could do. She had tried, Gods, every single one she could think of yet none she believed in, knew she tried. She had been ready to die if captured. Peter, sweet innocent Peter, a young man who she shouldn’t have allowed into her life, had even taken at the shot at the end, only to be mocked by… _him_.

Though Gamora couldn’t even see her own form, her mind consisting only of vague recollections of existing, she still felt a sour taste on her nonexistent tongue.

Thanos. Her ‘father’, a concept that would have made her throw up if she still had a stomach.

Damn him. Damn him to the darkest pits of hell, if such a concept even existed. Damn him to the darkest reaches of the universe, to areas so hostile to life that would make him _beg_ for death. Damn him…

Something broke within Gamora and she curled up in a pathetic ball —of her mind was deceiving her she had done so due to the lack of a physical body. Her chest heaved, her breath were shallow and quick. Though no such thing could happen with her nonexistent form, she felt tears run down her cheeks.

Damn Thanos for everything. Damn Thanos for taking away a mother Gamora loved. Damn Thanos for giving her a sister then taking away any warmth that concept had and filling their relationship with pain, death and needless competition. Damn him for making Nebula hate Gamora, and for making Gamora hate Nebula. Damn him for toying with Peter, torturing Gamora, hurting every single person with even a hint of goodness in them. Damn him for all those murders he committed, and then being such a coward that he had to use a flimsy excuse of ‘purging’ and having the gal viewing himself as a ‘gardener of the Universe’.

Damn Thanos for daring to think that he _loved_ her.

Damn Thanos for daring to think he had any capacity for affection, for having any right to claim love after what he’d done for years, for daring to cry when he threw her over the cliff to get that fucking stone—

“There you are.”

The voice was like nails on a chalkboard, a ghastly sound hostile to life itself. It echoed in Gamora’s empty head like war drums signaling the arrival of a thousand armies in a battlefield already drenched in blood.

Gamora whipped her head around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the voice’s owner.

Her body froze up.

Gamora didn’t simply catch a glimpse of the owner. She beheld its entire form, sending her a chill through her ethereal body, holding her in place, muscles locking up in a flight instinct, so unused that she had forgotten what it felt like.

The owner of the dreaded voice was a figure cloaked in black. Its form appeared to be humanoid, or at least that’s what Gamora’s feeble sane mind could register. Every single part of it was covered in a swaying black cloth, darker than the gaps between stars. The unearthly fabric clung on it, covering every single part of its loathsome frame except…

The face. A bloodcurdling mockery of a human skull —Peter’s face flashed in Gamora’s mind and she felt sick— stripped clean of flesh, sinew, and everything sans sparkling white bone.

Gamora stood motionless, as she and the figured regarded each other, one in dread and one with an unknowable expression.

Eventually, the figure tilted its head ever slightly to the side, its abyssal eye-sockets somehow making Gamora think it was _staring at her_.

“You’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you dear?”

The voice was just as horrifying as before, a sound no mortal creature was meant to hear and survive. Yet, there was something real about it now, a newfound feeling of earthliness, like the sound of a coffin lowered its ground.

“What are you?” Gamora’s voice came out as echoing, yet pathetically low compared to the creature’s deafening baritone.

“I do not think that is important,” It spoke carefully, dragging each word.

“It is,” Gamora insisted, fighting against her subconscious for each syllable.

The being rapped its fingers against its hips for a long second before saying: “Very well. I am Death, dear. Though some address me as Mistress as well.”

Gamora blinked. “…But I am already—”

“Of course I know you’re already dead, dear,” Death cut her off. “Not for a long time, mind you, but most certainly dead.”

“Then why are you here if I’m already dead?”

“A good question. I don’t concern myself with such matters, usually, so I suppose one might call this a special visit.” She spread her bony arms, cloak fluttering behind her like a blizzard’s freezing veil. “I’m here to bring you back dear.”

“Back?”

“Back to life of course. There is not much to bring you back to, is there now?”

Gamora should have been ecstatic at that. She died, but she would come back. Sh had a second chance, at killing Thanos, at saving Peter, at finally making things _right_.

Yet one silly question kept popping up in Gamora’s head. “Why do you keep calling me dear?”

Mistress Death’s cloak froze in place as it and her arms withdrew back into a hunched pose. “…Should I not? I am trying to be friendly so you will cooperate; a characteristic I’m woefully awful at, unfortunately.”

Ah. Gamora nodded. Best not to challenge her on that.

“If that is all, it is time to go—”

“Why?”

Death paused, and the bones around her eye-sockets shifted, resembling a half-lidded stare. “Be more specific.”

“Why are _you_ doing this?” Gamora repeated.

Death’s eyebrow ridge went up. “Ah, yes. I did not explain that, did I? I want you to kill Thanos.”

Gamora’s expression was caught between a frown and a scowl. “Excuse me?”

“Yes?” Death asked with another tilt of her head.

“Why do you want _me_ to kill Thanos? Why do _you_ want to kill Thanos in the first place?”

“The latter is for me to know and for you to stop wondering about,” Death curtly said and Gamora thought it wiser to leave it at that. “As for the former…” her sigh echoed like the death-throe of a whale, “ Thanos was successful in gathering the Infinity Stones.”

Gamora glanced up at one of the Milky Way’s greatly diminished arms. “…And he wiped out half the Universe.”

“Quite so,” Death said without missing a beat. “Frustratingly enough, all of those wiped out by him are out of my reach, for now. And the other half…”

“Crying like babies, I’m guessing,” Gamora let out before she could help herself. She should really stop being so inconsiderate—

Death tilted her head. “Well, I wouldn’t say there isn’t crying, but there is a lot of mourning. And, among those…”

“I’m the only person you can reach.”

“Not quite, dear, but you are among the very few I can revive without giving myself a headache.” “And you know Thanos well.”

“Is there something the matter?”

“So Thanos got the Soul Stone.”

“Yes? He acquired all of the Stones.”

Gamora nodded distractedly. “The only way to get the Soul Stone is by sacrificing someone you love,” she said, letting her thoughts slip into words. “So, he loved me.”

Death let out a laugh like clanging metal. “Love? Is that what they call it now?”

Gamora stared dumbly as Death kept laughing, each chuckle making her flinch.

“The Soul Stone simply requires a sacrifice,” Death continued. “The only reason why someone would add the love part would be to dissuade anyone from throwing any random person into the pit. No such thing is actually required.”

“But many tried.”

“Their sacrifices were simply strong enough.”

Gamora looked down at her hands. “So I’m strong.”

“As far as the Soul Stone is concerned. Not the best judge, that one.”

She looked up at Death. “And Thanos didn’t love me.”

“How would I know? I’m Death, dear.”

Despite the noncommittal response, it felt like a weight had been lifted off Gamora’s shoulders.

No that wasn’t love. That was never love. That was simple possessiveness, the same possessiveness shown By Peter’s father, Ego. The same abuse masked as love.

Gamora’s stood up straight, trying to look Death in the eye, but only managing to look a the tattered edges of her cloak. “Let’s get started then. I’m guessing you’re terribly inconvenienced.”

Death’s frame shook, as if in mirth. “You have no idea.”

\\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/

Loki was not having a good day, if such a thing existed in the place he was.

Despite being a Frost Giant, a fact he had tried to rub at anyone’s face that called him Asguardian out of what he now recognized a petty aggression, Loki did believe in the concept of Valhalla. Not so much that he, the Trickster God, would find themselves in it, but he could at least hope that Thor, had the unthinkable happened, would be there.

Still, Loki did not expect… this, nothingness.

Left him with too much time to think.

“There you are,” came an unearthly voice.

Oh thank goodness, some other poor soul was stuck here with him.

Loki turned around and froze at the skeletal being before him. Not his first choice for an eternal companion.

“What in the Nine Realms are you?” Loki blurted. He had encountered many creatures in his studies and travels, but this one looked as if it was plucked right out of the most horrifying of tomes.

“Mistress Death,” the being blankly replied. “You’re coming with me—”

“I thought I was already dead.”

“Yes, but—”

“Must be a terrible system if you have to come for me twice—”

“ _Quiet now_.” Her voice echoed with a force of a thousand stars and Loki wisely went very quiet. “As I was saying, it is time for you to come back, Loki, and kill Thanos.”

Loki gave the clearly very mad and very powerful being a slow nod. “I don’t know if you were there, but last time I did that, it did not go well for me.”

“Quite so. Which is why you’ll only be assisting. Now take my hand.”

Loki tilted his head and frowned at the creature. “A question about logistics. I’m dead, and I don’t think there are any remains left to reanimate—”

“I have already taken care of that.”

Loki nodded but still didn’t take Death’s hand. He doubted he could wiggle his way out of this suicidal quest, but coming back didn’t seem like such a bad idea. And there was also… “What happened to the others? To…” he licked his dry lips. “Thor?”

Death wiggled her fingers in impatience. “Take my hand, and find out for yourself.”

\\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/

“I asked for a ship,” was the first thing Loki heard when returning to the world of the living.

“Do I look like I own one, dear?” came Death’s voice, as hair-raising and echoing as it was in the land of the dead. “You’ll have to make do with this one. Very resourceful, from what I can tell.”

“Hello,” a disoriented Loki let out of habit as he tried to stand up, blinking rapidly to get rid of the afterimages of stars.

Before him stood a green-skinned woman of athletic build and with lots of knives, guns and general killing tools on her.

“Who are you?” the woman asked, crossing her arms as she gave him a once over.

Loki gave her a quick formal bow, on the verge of being mocking, “Loki. Of Asgard. At your service, lady…?”

“Gamora.” She stared at him for a second before looking up at the sky, obscured by a thick blizzard. “Do you know how to get to Earth from here?”

“Of course.” Loki had no idea where they were. “And why would we be heading to Earth, Lady Gamora?”

“Get allies. Kill Thanos.” She tilted her head to the cloaked figure “She didn’t tell you?”

She did but Loki wanted to make sure, just in case. “Mistress Death is strict with her words.”

Gamora huffed. “I’m about to kill my Father.“

“Happens to the best of us.”

Gamora huffed. Ah so she did have a sense of humor. Their trip would be unbearable otherwise.

“Let’s go save the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> **Not gonna write the whole thing as I got other stories going. Basically you get bittersweet reunion between Gamora and Rocket, Nebula attacks Gamora cause she thinks she is a ploy of Thanos and the two eventually bond as to how much of a dick Thanos was. Thor is over the moon about Loki and believes this was part of Loki’s plan all along (Loki does not correct him). Death stays close but invisible to everyone else and has some creepy ‘looking over your shoulder’ and ‘sending chills by passing through you’ shenanigans. Thanos dies with Death saying something metal like ‘arrogant fool that you are you thought you were a gardener when you are in fact a mere weed’.**
> 
> **Also something like this as an after-credits scene because Mistress Death having the hots for Deadpool is hilariously great:**
> 
> Deadpool cursed as he arched his back to dodge bullets, shrapnel and the ghastly unsanitary horrors in New Jersey’s sewer system. He had no idea why there was a fight, there as some green lady with lasers and maybe an avenger, as Deadpool’s consciousness faded, probably because of the street lamp lodged at his chest, as an anthropomorphic shadow manifested behind the green lady—
> 
> Well, hello there.
> 
> Though she —Deadpool assumed ‘she’ as the figure exuded the same heart-stopping dread as an angry Vanessa— was all bones and fancy black cloaks, Deadpool could tell the presence of a passionate heart somewhere deep, rock bottom most likely. She was Deadpool’s type. Maybe Vanessa’s type too; she had once brought in a goth guy from one of her book club meet-ups and they all had a great night.
> 
> Deadpool winked. The action forced his costume’s fabric to painfully go inside his eyelid, sliding over the sclera to make the wink obvious, but hey, no pain no gain, right? Besides it wasn’t as if Deadpool wasn’t already in terrible pain, what with being impaled and all.
> 
> Her face was static for a long, painful second. Then, bone grew in an erratic, ghastly manner, until it completely overtook one of her eyelids. As fast as it grew it receded, leaving behind a hole of horrifying, but very attractive, nothingness.
> 
> Hell yeah, she winked back—!
> 
> **Thank you for reading. Feedback is appreciated.**


End file.
